The Time-Closet Space Continuum

I know “I’ve been busy,” the excuse that’s practically as American as apple pie and snarky gossip, is a hard sell when you’re unemployed. As in, “Why haven’t you added to your unemployment blog in so long?”

Well, I’ve been busy. Really.

I taught a three-week class at Willow Creek church in October. I spent a week in Kansas City with my family. I’ve been writing a slew of freelance articles. I’ve been volunteering.

And, most importantly, I’ve been learning valuable lessons about the preciousness of our days.

This busyness thing is a surprise to me, too. I remember years ago when a friend of mine became a stay-at-home wife. Not a stay-at-home mom, but a stay-at-home wife. I was supportive of whatever made sense for her and her husband, but secretly wondered what she did all day. I was a working woman at the time, and couldn’t fathom how a person could fill those eight hours five days a week that I spent parked in my office chair.

My past six months of being a stay-at-home person has certainly opened my eyes.

Pretty much, I’ve learned that time is like closet space. Your stuff grows to fill however much you have. Like the apartment I lived in years ago, the one in which I had the master bedroom with two walk-in closets. When I first moved in, my things barely filled one of the two closets, and I had visions of turning the other into a reading “room.” Six years later when I moved out of that home, I packed up the contents of both over-full closets into too many cardboard boxes, shaking my head at myself the entire time.

The refilling and reframing of my days over the past six months has certainly been a work in progress. I admit that at first, in the days of shock and oh-crap-what-now, I filled my days with too much television and emotional eating. But I eventually feared that pattern would make me a 300-pound idiot. And I finally moved through the next stages of grief. And so, I thankfully became a bit more proactive about my days.

All that extra time felt like a liability at first. What on earth would I do with all those hours (besides desperately searching the web for a new job)? But with time, appropriately enough, I began to realize what a precious gift all these free hours and minutes are.

I love having time to give to friends who need a ride to the airport. To give to the tutoring ministry at my church, where I sometimes get bested by seventh-grade math. To leisurely spend at Starbucks reading a good novel, enjoying the people watching just as much as the rich words. To linger in a hot shower on cold Chicago mornings. To talk with a friend for hours over guacamole and fruity drinks. To pray for all my other friends who need jobs too.

When I was working and was over-busy, as most Americans are, the joy and value of these things escaped me. I didn’t have as much time to give to others, or so I thought. So many times in the middle of one event my mind was thinking ahead to the next. So often I wasn’t fully present.

I didn’t make near enough time for the little joys in life: a Sunday afternoon nap, a walk on a sunny day, a phone call to my parents just to say hello, an email to a friend who’s recently popped into my mind. If I ever made time for these things, I often felt guilty about it. I thought I wasn’t being productive enough. Like I didn’t have enough to show for my days.

And I certainly didn’t appreciate what a gift it is when someone gives you some of his or her precious time. Instead of just rushing through my weekends, trying to shoehorn in enough fun to help balance out the coming workweek, I now have more time to anticipate dinner with a friend, coffee with a former coworker, a walk with a mom-friend and her toddler. To anticipate and relish and remember.

Before my days were busy busy busy. But when my daytimer was wiped clean and turned into a blank canvas, I set my mind on a new goal for my days: full. Not with so many events that there’s hardly any breathing room. But full with meaning. And rest. And intentionality. And a healthy pace. And giving back. And things that reflect my priorities. With this new goal in mind, even when I still sometimes get it horribly wrong, I find my cup is full. And sometimes even overflows.

So, on my better days, I realize that although something was taken from me—my job of 15 years—something else was given. All this glorious time. And while at first it felt like a liability, I now realize it’s like a bag of magic coins. Of inestimable value. To be spent wisely and lavishly.

And what really gets me is that I’ve had these coins all along. I’m only just now realizing their great and precious worth.